122 BY-WA YS AND BIRD-NOTES. 



pours on, and the wind sinks and swells like 

 the breath of a mighty sleeper. 



Perfumes, too, affect one strangely, on wak- 

 ing, in the depth of night. There is a certain 

 decayed wood in the Southern forests which at 

 times gives forth a delicate, far-reaching aroma. 

 This, together with the occasional wafts of 

 sweet-gum odor and the peculiarly sharp smell 

 of pine resin, steals through the woodland 

 ways and touches the sleeper's senses until 

 he slowly awakes. Drowsily he lies, with his 

 eyes lightly closed, noting the tender shades 

 of sweetness as they come and go. But the 

 falling of a slight shower of rain, one of those 

 short, light, even down-comings of large drops, 

 which is not strong enough to break through 

 the leaf-canopy overheard, moves the out-door 

 slumberer to most exquisite enjoyment. He 

 opens his eyes and all his senses at once. 

 The air has sweet moisture in it, the darkness 

 is deep. Above, around, far and near, a tu- 

 mult is in the leaves. The shower is scarcely 

 more than momentary in its duration, but it 

 is infinitely suggestive. There are millions of 

 voices calling from far and near. Vast organ 

 swells, tender aeolian strains, the thrumming 

 of harp-strings and the exquisite quaverings of 

 the violin. Multitudes clapping hands and 

 crying from afar in applause. Then as the 

 cloud passes on, the throbbing sounds trail 

 after it, and at length it all dies out beyond 

 the hills. 



So our nights were " filled with music " in 

 the Palace of Reeds. 



Our days were the scenes of greater because 

 more active pleasures. We had a pirogue dug 

 out of a tulip log which we propelled on the 



